Vater
by Linndechir
Summary: For Hans Landa, not even love is unselfish. Landa/Hellstrom


Author's note: A while ago I had this idea that Hellstrom had huge daddy issues, and this is just a quick scene I scribbled while I was trying to come up with clear story ideas. I'm definitely planning to make more of the whole daddy kink idea. I'm even considering writing an AU in which Landa actually IS Hellstrom's father … erm yes … but not here, don't worry. ;) I apologise for the lame title.

* * *

Warm arms encircled him securely, holding him close from behind. A strong chest pressed against his back, so close that he could feel the other man's heartbeat. Hot breath brushing his ear; gentle, soothing hands caressing his stomach.

"Calm down, my boy," Landa whispered, rubbing his cheek against Dieter's. His sudden tenderness was an almost painful contrast to his roughness earlier tonight, and Dieter's abused body soaked up the gentle touches like the dry summer ground soaks up rain after weeks of dearth.

"Are you crying?" The intimate address almost made Dieter sob. Landa usually insisted on the formal "Sie" even in bed, and whenever he said "du", it felt more caring than any compliment Landa had ever paid him. Landa's fingers moved to Dieter's cheeks, wiping off the tears.

So warm, gentle. Fatherly.

This was what Dieter had always imagined a fatherly touch to be like. Like his mother's, but somehow more intense. He could hardly remember his real father, who had died in the Great War when Dieter had been but a little boy, but if he had been able to wish for a father, it would have been Landa. Intelligent, ruthless, charismatic, the perfection of all the arts that Dieter aspired to. It was his most private, darkest fantasy, and more than once he had almost found himself moaning "Father" when Landa touched him.

"My beautiful little boy." Landa's voice was like music in his ear, his Vienna accent always so much softer than the harder, clipped accents from Northern Germany. Dieter had no idea to what extent Landa was aware of his soft spot, but the older man had easily noticed how much Dieter enjoyed these usually demeaning, yet somehow tender endearments.

Landa slowly turned Dieter's thin body around to face him, and even his eyes looked gentle when they met Dieter's. He stroked the blond hair, then petted his cheek. Gestures that any father would bestow on his little son, innocent had their naked bodies not been pressed together. Moaning softly, Dieter moved closer, burying his face against Landa's neck, his tears mixing with Landa's sweat.

It felt so right, so safe. It was so easy to forget that these same hands had teased and beaten him earlier tonight, strangled him until he had started to cry, held his hips in a bruising grip while Landa was fucking him … right now they were loving, and somehow the knowledge that they could hurt so much only made this new tenderness more precious. And didn't a good father punish as well as reward? Was it not part of a father's duty to chastise his son, as well as to comfort him once the punishment had been dealt out?

Dieter started to relax so much that his lips moved unconsciously, forming the word against Landa's neck. He had never meant for the sounds to escape his lips, but it was too late when he realised his mistake.

"Father."

He felt Landa flinch in surprise, but apparently the colonel had already been suspicious about this before tonight. It took him no more than a few seconds to react.

"Yes, my son?"

Dieter had spent thirty years fantasising about hearing these words from another man's lips, some of these dreams more innocent than others. He made a strangled little noise that he himself didn't recognise as a sob, so overwhelmed by bottled-up feelings that he couldn't think clearly, couldn't consider the consequences of this, couldn't even think about the danger of opening himself so much to Landa, showing him his greatest weakness. All he cared about in that moment was getting what he had dreamt of for his whole life.

"Don't leave me again, please," he whispered, his voice almost failing him now.

"Never again. I'm with you now, my son," Landa replied, and his voice sounded genuinely loving. Dieter knew he would see a smirk on his face if he looked up, but he didn't want to destroy the illusion, not yet.

"Promise me, father. I need you."

Landa's arms tightened around him, a possessive gesture that was as close as he ever came to showing affection. His lips brushed Dieter's hair, one hand found its way to his neck. Once again tears spilled over Dieter's cheeks, but this time they were not caused by physical pain, but by the overload of feelings that his jaded heart did not know how to handle. It took only one sentence to heal the broken world of his childhood, the broken heart of a boy who had been lonely for too long.

"I love you, my son."

* * *

Landa wasn't sure what had come over him. He had simply wanted to toy with Dieter, to manipulate him into revealing even more of himself. He hadn't been prepared for the strange, warm feeling that filled him when Dieter called him father. He had never had children - at least none that he knew of - and he had never regretted that. And still, Hellstrom had always felt like the son he would have wanted. So promising, so clever, so beautiful. The embodiment of everything Landa loved about himself, but in a prettier shell.

And yet he had never expected this little game to affect him so much. This was supposed to be about manipulation, about entertainment, about sex. But he realised, shocked at himself, that he had meant the words he had said to Dieter. He could rationalise it all he wanted, but in that moment he hadn't been lying.

Almost unconsciously his second hand moved to Dieter's neck, ready to tighten. He couldn't allow this. No matter how much he knew about Dieter, no matter how much power he had over him - the reason he cared about the young man at all was because Dieter was no less intelligent and ruthless than him. If he ever found out about Landa's feelings - it felt so strange to use this word when referring to himself - the hunter would all too easily become the prey.

The peaceful smile on Dieter's face dissipated and he stirred a little in his sleep. Landa told himself that he had to keep going, but his hands defied him and loosened their grip. His chest hurt. His eyes burnt. His hands trembled. He couldn't do this.

He shouldn't do this.

It wasn't about his conscience. It wasn't even about whatever feelings he might delude himself into, in weak moments. It wasn't even about Dieter. It was only about himself, Hans Landa. Of course he loved the boy. Hellstrom was perfection. The perfect partner, the perfect lover, the perfect toy. A rarity. You didn't put down a thoroughbred stallion because he was too wild. You learnt to tame him, make him obey no one's voice but your own.

Landa loved Hellstrom because he was dangerous. He loved him like a father who would always fear that his son would try to eliminate and replace him one day. But where would mankind go if all fathers killed their most promising sons?

He smiled, having come to peace with himself. Dieter probably hadn't taken his words seriously anyway, believing them to be part of Landa's act. And even if he had, Landa would simply have to remind him of the most elementary lesson in life.

Nothing, not even love, is unselfish.


End file.
